All Good Things
by vjs2259
Summary: Part of the Lennier/Ivanova AU universe. Briefly, Ivanova returned ten years after she left to explore the Rim to lead the Rangers. Lennier returned shortly after that, and they got together. This piece is set approximately 20 years after John's death, around 2300 on Minbar.
1. Flames to Dust

Inspiration for piece:

**All Good Things (Come To An End)**

-Nelly Furtado

"Flames to dust  
Lovers to friends  
Why do all good things come to an end?"

_The phrase 'all good things must come to an end' is attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer in the year 1374. _

...we therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of resurrection to eternal life-

The 1559 Book of Common Prayer

_Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words._

* * *

**Flames to Dust**

Delenn lay curled on one side on the bed. It was set near to horizontal, human fashion, and her head was supported by a long silk-covered pillow. A bolster was tucked up against her back. It provided support for a spine aching after many hours spent sitting on a hard bench in the front row of the chill temple; witnessing, meditating, wishing.

It had been a long day and her body complained of it, although she did not listen. The pain of stiffened joints and tendons tight with tension was easy to ignore. She'd had years of practice. The fire in her bedroom had been lit upon their arrival home, but in the time taken for a shared meal and preparation for sleep, it had died down to glowing embers.

"Shall I add more wood? This room is still cold. You should take the front room near the kitchen. It is easier to keep warm," Lennier half-rose from his chair next to her bed, preparing to add more fuel at her command.

"I prefer the light from the embers," declared Delenn. "Sometimes the flame moves across them and it looks almost like writing. Like someone is speaking through words of fire."

"A secret message perhaps," said Lennier. He rose anyway and re-arranged the embers with a long steel poker. Ash clung to the implement as he carefully replaced it in the rack. The mirror which hung over the mantel reflected his image as he moved around the room.

She watched in drowsy comfort as he worked, hanging her ritual robes carefully in the corner wardrobe, tidying away shoes she had kicked off upon their return, and finally twitching the curtains closed against the snow-filled night sky.

"Leave them open, Lennier," Delenn called from the bed. "We get snow so seldom these days. I like to watch it fall."

"You are watching the fire," he observed. "The window is the opposite direction."

"I can see the window in the mirror," she retorted. "Now stop fussing. I like the snowfall. I like the dying fire even though it does not provide enough warmth. Do you understand?"

"Understanding is not required," he said with a smile, as he took a seat in a chair next to the bed. "Only obedience."

She laughed, a hoarse low rasp that ended in a deep cough. In an instant he was beside her on the bed, holding her upright as she struggled for breath.

It took a few minutes for her to recover from the coughing fit. It was growing annoying; this illness clung like the pale ash on the grey slate hearth. When she was breathing easily again, Lennier lowered her head onto the pillow and smoothed her hair, like a mother soothing a sick child.

Turning to the low stand next to the bed, he picked up a tall glass bottle. "You didn't take your medicine," he scolded.

Delenn grimaced, watching him remove the cap and pour some of the golden liquid into a crystal cup, which was marked on the inside with fluid measurements in Minbari numerical notation. She slowly rose on one elbow, took the cup from his outstretched hand and swallowed the contents. "Only obedience," she said as she handed it back with a quirk of her lips.

Lennier regarded her impassively and returned to his chair. Looking up at the mirror which was perched on the mantel piece, leaning against the wall, he observed, "You _can_ see the night sky."

"Did you doubt me?" asked Delenn, with one hand slipped under her cheek, and the other fiddling with the edge of the sheet.

"Never," replied Lennier. With one hand he pulled up the light blanket to cover her shoulders. "Delenn," he asked, "Does this day, does the remembering..." He hesitated as if searching for the exact word. "Does it cause you pain?"

"Pain and joy, light and dark. You cannot have one without the other." Delenn's voice blurred at the edges. She fought back the urge to sleep. "It is an anniversary, a date to remember. The wrong one perhaps, but the one the people have chosen." In a meditative tone, she noted, "I have now been without him longer than I was with him."

"Twenty years," remarked Lennier. "He accomplished a great deal in that time." He looked around the spare but comfortable room. It was quiet enough to hear the hiss of snow against the glass. "He, and you, laid the foundation for the peace we now enjoy."

Delenn nodded, her greying hair catching in the twisted fingers that cradled her wrinkled face. "He was like a sun," she mused, lost in recollection. "A blazing fire in the center of my sky."

"A shooting star, perhaps," mused Lennier, "Here, then gone." Hearing the sound of a latch, he glanced up at the mirror. His partner had gone out onto the terrace in the still night. Susan appeared to be watching the snow also. He noted that she was not wearing her cloak.

"No," argued Delenn. "Nothing so ephemeral as that." She watched Lennier's face, then glanced at the mirror. Susan was wandering about in the cold. Delenn smiled to herself. Lennier would be torn as to who he should be protecting.

"Of course not," Lennier replied. His brow furrowed. "There is too much dust on the fireplace. It aggravates your cough."

"Leave it, leave it," said Delenn. "I am almost asleep and sweeping will only stir it up in any case. Tomorrow is time enough." She considered the crawling orange glow of the coals. Flames turned to ash and dust, but the promise of fire remained in the embers of her heart.

Delenn pulled one hand out from under the coverlet and gestured to her old friend. "Stay with me a little while longer, Lennier." She smiled up at him. "Then you can rescue Susan from the cold."

He leaned forward and gently took her hand within his own. "I will stay," he said. "Always."


	2. Lovers to Friends

"Always," said Lennier, carefully keeping hold of Delenn's hand as her breathing slowed and fell into the regular pattern of sleep. The raspy whistle that had marked her breathing during this illness was gone, he noted with approval. Carefully he removed his hand from hers with the hint of a glancing caress. He rose and went to the fire, added some of the well-seasoned pullar wood, coaxing the embers to a fiery blaze. Then he swept the ash back into the base of the fire.

He looked around the room with satisfaction, everything was in its place. Except, he noted, the framed photo that normally stood on the stand near her bed. Worried that he might have knocked it off earlier when he had changed the bedclothes, he looked behind the stand and then under the bed. Looking up from his crouched position, he saw the edge of the silver frame poking out from under her pillow. Gently he eased the photo out, afraid it would fall to the floor and break in the long night to come.

Setting the photo upright on the stand, he stared at the couple, looking at him from happier times. "John Sheridan," he muttered under his breath. "Gone but not forgotten."

He sat back in the chair and watched the firelight flicker over the silver of the frame. He had hated John Sheridan. Hated him for years, blamed him for so many things that were beyond any one man's fault or responsibility; how could he have done that? He no longer recognized the man he had been. The emotions were still there but now he acknowledged them as false, based in bias and untruth. They were overlain by newer memories, years of working with and beside the human who loved Delenn.

Glancing up at the mirror, he saw that Susan was still walking back and forth in the snow. Flakes dotted her hair; grey streaks now outnumbered the original chestnut brown. The quiet joy he felt when he observed her was so different from the violent turbulence of his long-ago love for Delenn. Looking down at his mentor he felt only the deepest friendship. And that was the way it should be.

A soft chime sounded from the other room, and Lennier quietly left the room after a quick assessment of his charge and his friend. The com station was glowing softly and he swiftly crossed the room to silence the alarm before it repeated and woke Delenn. Checking the signature on the message he smiled broadly and touched the button to accept the call.

"Ranneth," he said, "It is good to hear from you, sister-of-my-mother! But why are you calling so late? You should be in bed."

"As should you," retorted the elderly Minbari, her shrunken form hidden in her robes like a small child caught trying on an elder's clothing. Her wizened face, split by a broad smile, lit up the small screen. "I am often wakeful. My physician says it is my soul trying to make the most of the time my body has left. In any case, I merely called to see how you were doing this Anniversary Day."

"The ceremonies were less personal and more political, I felt, but everything went well," replied Lennier. He settled into a chair in front of the screen. Leaning forward he gazed at the screen. "It has been too long since Susan and I visited you."

"I agree. It is." Ranneth tried to look solemn but her eyes sparkled. Then soberly, she went on, "I saw part of the vidcast. Delenn looked tired. Is she all right?"

"She has not been well. And the stress of this day is not getting any easier with the years." Lennier shook his head. "I somehow thought it would."

"No," said Ranneth sadly. "It never gets any easier. Everyone says it does, but those words are solely meant to make others feel less badly."

"It is hard to see someone you are fond of in pain. The only wish is to make it stop." Lennier's hands moved restlessly on the desktop, re-arranging and straightening various small items.

"When pain stops you are dead, Lennier," Ranneth said sharply. "When you are older you will understand that." Her voice softened. "She would prefer the fiery pain of remembering to the cold barrenness of forgetting."

Lennier nodded. He knew she was right but it still hurt. The hurt was a measure of the depth of his concern, and loving concern was what gave his life meaning. To serve and to protect, always; that had been his vow and it was an immense comfort to him that he had been given a second chance to fulfill that promise.

Coming out of his inner thoughts, he realized he had missed a question. "I am sorry, what did you say?" he asked, making the gesture of humble apology.

"I said, are you taking care of Susan as well. This is not an easy day for her, and she is less likely to admit to it than Delenn," Ranneth repeated patiently.

"Of course," answered Lennier, his heart warming at the thought of the remainder of the evening, to be spent in conversation and comfort. "I was just about to make her some tea."

"I will not keep you then," replied Ranneth. "Visit soon, Lennier. My eyes long to see you and yours."

"Soon," agreed Lennier, giving the word the full heft of his sincere promise.

After the call ended, he sat silent for a moment, considering all the changes in his life, and all the constants as well. He rose, paused to tend to the fire, then went to the kitchen and laid out the necessary items for tea. The water had been set to boil and hold temperature when they had finished the evening meal, so it took only a few moments. When it was ready, he put it all on a tray and carried it into the living room, setting it on the low crystal-topped table which separated the couch from the fire, which was now burning well.

Lennier opened the door to the terrace, the chill wind blowing in around his ankles. "Come in, Susan," he said, and held out his hand to his love.


	3. All Good Things

A terrace of interlaced flagstones was outlined by a trim lawn, grey and brown in the winter chill. The flowers were cut low to the ground, beds tucked in with white stones and black mulch. It made a patchwork of shadows outside the small cottage. The windows were bright with fire and candlelight. The terrace had glass doors with windows on either side, crystal triangles inset in stone.

An older human woman opened the glass doors and came out onto the stones. Her low soft boots made no sound but shifted the swirling spirals of snow. She moved from one side to the next, hands sweeping ice crystals off low planters, full of bare cold dirt, spaced evenly on the short walls.

A figure appeared in the doorway, outlined by the light. It was a Minbari, male, religious caste from his crest, medium height, shoulders slightly stooped with age. "Come in, Susan. The temperature drops quickly at this time of year. You will catch cold."

Susan Ivanova turned and re-entered the house, catching Lennier's outstretched hand and accompanying him to the small living area beyond the terrace doors. They sat side by side on the couch, legs and shoulders touching as they leaned together. "I made tea," said Lennier. A tray sat on a low table, crystal edged with silver and inlaid with stone, on legs of grey driftwood imported from the Western sea. He leaned forward and poured steaming liquid into two white porcelain cups, handing one to Susan.

"Is she asleep?" asked Susan.

"Yes," replied Lennier, taking a deep draught of his tea and returning the cup to the tray. "Anniversary Day is always hard for her."

"At least the ceremonies are getting shorter as time goes on. There are less people who ask to speak, less who attend the speeches." Susan turned the cup around and around in her hands. She saw the loose skin, veins blue and prominent. They were strong hands, capable, with long fingers square at the tips. They had once piloted StarFuries and White Stars, held the reins of command and the lives of countless others in their grasp.

"I do not know if Delenn sees that as a good thing," responded Lennier. "Do you?"

"Fewer and fewer people who actually knew John are involved in this dog-and-pony show. It's for posterity, that's what Delenn says." Susan put down her cup, which trembled slightly in the saucer, and took Lennier's free hand. "She doesn't want him, or what he did, to be forgotten."

"I asked if _you_ thought it was a good thing," Lennier repeated, giving her hand a squeeze. He waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.

After a moment, she answered. "I never thought the ceremonies were a good thing. The whole return of the king idea; it's nonsense. John was a good man, even a great man, but he was just a man. I don't think we'll ever see him again, in this world or any other." She leaned against his shoulder. "I wish I did believe it."

Lennier put one arm around her. "Delenn believes, and that is enough. It has kept her going for many years now."

"I know," said Susan. She looked around the small room, dim in the dancing fire light. Light scattered across glass and silver, touching random points. Susan recognized some items from Delenn's quarters back on Babylon 5, from John's, from the residence in Tuzanoor. Delenn had encased herself in memories like a snail in a shell. Yet she seemed unburdened, and Susan privately wondered if all the medals and pictures were for other people rather than for Delenn. Maybe it was the same with the other rituals too.

"Lennier," said Susan. She pointed around the room. "Is all this stuff important to Delenn?"

"Important, yes. Necessary, no." Lennier refreshed both their cups with fresh tea. "Delenn carries everything she needs within herself."

"I suppose she does." Susan picked up her cup, then let it clatter back on the low table. "Too hot."

Lennier quickly took her hand and examined it. "Do you wish healing?"

"Hell no," replied Susan. "It's not even blistered." She didn't withdraw it from his clasp. Her voice trembled. "How much longer will she be with us?"

"I cannot tell," said Lennier. "She grows more frail every year, yet her spirit remains strong."

"Is it right that we've moved in here with her? She was independent so many years after John left, then she moved out here with only a single attendant. When she got sick last fall I thought...well, I thought we might lose her. Would she tell us if she didn't want us around to help?"

Lennier kissed her gently on the forehead. "She would tell us." He smiled at her concerned face. "And she has not."

Susan slowly stood and began to circle the room, examining the artifacts and artwork. "I've been here so many times and heard the stories." She pulled down one piece from a shelf. "I can't believe she has this here. I gave it to John myself, years ago."

"The piece of the Drala Fi?" asked Lennier. "Yes, I know she has it. It is not prominently displayed, or labeled. But it is a piece of Sheridan's history, and it was a gift from you to him and so it is here."

"All these things," said Susan, continuing her circuit of the room, running her fingers over one item after another. "The sum of a life."

Lennier rose, his once quick and subtle movements now slow and deliberate. He walked over to Susan and put one hand on her shoulder. "While she needs us we will be here. It has been a hard winter, but spring is coming and we may yet return to our home. If we do not, then we do not." He gestured towards the walls and cabinets. "Our life is measured in the lives we touch, the hearts we hold dear, not in possessions and trinkets. Delenn would be the richest woman I know if she left this word tomorrow, if she had none of this."

Susan turned and settled into Lennier's arms. "Rich in friends, rich in people who love her." She whispered into his chest. "And so am I."


End file.
